Cherubini's historically important opera, a favourite Callas vehicle,
is being given now at Berlin's Deutsche Oper in the original French
version of 1897, with a great deal of spoken dialogue. The staging and
production by Ursel & Karl-Ernst Hermann is effective in
concentrating the action in vivid images placed in a deep triangle with
black walls, which help to focus the sound and open up occasionally
to suggest the sea beyond. Iano Tamar is powerful in suggesting
the torments of Medea, sorceress and rejected wife, trying to contain
her vengeful urges towards the man whom she had, with her magic, raised
to power, betraying her father and killing her own brother on the way
to pave the realisation of his ambitions; an anti-hero & anti-heroine
pair even more repugnant than the Macbeths? Dressed mainly in reds,
at the denouement glittering as if drenched in blood, Iano Tamar's singing
is commanding, beautiful and rock-steady through the registers, rising
to a great climax in the extended scene which culminates in the murder
of her little boys and even then enlists some sympathy from the audience.A
real star, who should be a magnificent Leonora and Wagnerian soprano.

The Jason (Donald Kaasch) was implacable in
insisting that his sons' future should be within Creon's court and was
solid but unsympathetic in his dialogues with Médée. Most
persuasive and involving for us was the in depth characterisation and
direction of the ill-fated bride, Victoria Louklanetz as Creon's
daughter, the Princess Dircé, an edgy, even appropriately shrill
soprano (this is not written pejoratively) whose uncertainty was depicted
in her scenes being dressed for the wedding, smothered in yards of white
more as if being bound in a winding sheet, tottering towards her fate
along the ritual path of the table top for a wedding feast which was
interrupted by the arrival of the wife that was. Those images, and her
representation of vulnerability, will be long remembered.

The music was forcefully projected by the fine Deutsche
Oper Berlin chorus and orchestra under Gabriele Ferro. How to
characterise Cherubini's score, important in its time and influential
in the development of dramatic opera? Perhaps in the same bracket as
had been said about Saint-Saëns, once described as 'the greatest
composer who was not a genius'?

The Marriage of Figaro was seen in a
rather disturbing and disorienting revival of a 1999 Thomas Langhoff
production, with a model theatre on stage during the second half to
remind us that it is all only theatre. Everything seemed run down and
the first Act set seemed so rickety that we feared for the safety of
the performers; was that telling us about the Almaviva domain or something
about the Staatsoper itself? After the interval a huge space served
for the Count's ceremonial courtroom, chapel and garden (confessionals
doubling as pavilions). A high bridge across the stage gave a new slant
to the conversations overheard and deliberate confusions. Of several
(? deliberate) stage gaffes, the most disconcerting (given the current
practise of staging visual counterpoints to opera overtures) was that
the curtain didn't go up until Figaro had finished measuring up the
'so convenient' marital bedroom! If these oddities were all meant as
humour, some of it was of a heavy type and, all in all, there was little
of the fun or the heart-warming moments of genuine sentiment one expects
also in a Marriage of Figaro (see the DVD from Zurich Opera, in which
the Act 3 recognition sextet could bring tears to your eyes, TDK
DV-OPNDF).

There was however plenty of ingenious detail to enjoy.
The first act hidings around the chair were expertly managed and the
androgynous Patricia Risley particularly well characterised as
Cherubino, a convincing adolescent boy in modern dress, gawky dressed
as a girl who would deceive nobody, his unruly locks shorn to make him
a proper young soldier. Katherine Kammerloher and Stephan
Rugamer acted and sang well as the late marriers; each had striking
voices and should not have been deprived of their arias, especially
for our 6 o'clock Sunday performance - no worries about last buses (q.v.
my letter
in The Times 10 June about Berlin transport)!

The leading women were less memorable, Dorothea
Roschmann small voiced and a diffident actress, but giving a beautiful
Deh Vieni, Regina Schorg's vibrato playing havoc with
line in the Countess's arias. A substitute Count, Klaus Häger,
filled his role well, replacing Roman Trekel. After two performances
in May, the Swiss conductor Phillipe Jordan had taken over the
orchestra (a little rough in the overture, during which there were no
visual distractions) from the company's musical director, Daniel Barenboim.

The undoubted star of the show was Kwangchul Youn,
Marcellina and Bartolo's unlikely-looking son,as Figaro, a company
singer who has been featured in smallish parts and was the original
Bartolo in 1999. Frustratingly, in Berlin we were not provided with
any biographical notes about the singers (not to speak of the over-inclusive
CVs usual in UK) so we did not know if this was his debut in the part?
With a strong, authoritative presence and a huge, well-focused baritone
full of character, he would appear destined for the international operatic
stage.

We learnt the next day that the Staatsoper has suffered
'technical problems' more often than is acceptable, which seems to be
the more likely explanation for some of the peculiarities that bothered
us.

* * * * *

The great director Harry Kupfer (see the newly released TDK
DVD of his famous production of Die Soldaten) is retiring from
the Komischen Oper after 21 years, during which he has been responsible
for 38 productions, nine of them still in the repertoire. It was serendipitous
that two on show were his affectionate realisations of Mozart's German
operas. It is believed that without Kupfer's contribution the Komischen
Oper might not have survived the upheavals in Berlin's cultural world
following unification, and the financial crises that continue to beset
the capital.

Harry Kupfer's stage direction of Die Zauberflöte
and Nicholas Kok's pacing of the music emphasised the pantomimic
qualities of this popular entertainment, which carried the sublimities
of Mozart's genius lightly. To
its advantage, the clear and sharp, but not cold, acoustics of East
Berlin's moderate sized opera house helped the cast to get across their
words easily, so that everyone was involved. The old story seemed to
be largely taking place in Tamino's dream and came up again fresh as
ever, with a fine mixture of periods in the costumes and staging from
not-too solemn ritual to robot-driven computer graphics, took in its
stride the incongruities of the tale. At the end Tamino froze in a final
tableau, unable to join his Pamina to ride away on her splendid white
unicorn, which the three winged boys had been stroking with solicitude.

Years ago I saw four ladies of the Queen of the Night
rehearsing under Furtwängler at the Salzburg Festival, each hoping
one of the others would be dumped; never before tonight had I seen Tamino
attacked by three fearsome hungry dragons in the first scene! Why three?
All was explained when the Three Ladies stepped out from them, and proceeded
to dominate the first Act with personalised acting, and winning singing
from each. The whole show was facilitated by three jockey-capped boys
of our own time (hiding to pretend to be unseen), who acted as general
factotums on stage. They threw out costumes from chests on stage, first
a cloak for the modern-dressed Tamino, and made a ready identification
for the schoolchildren who surrounded us, exemplary in their behaviour
and entranced by all the goings on.

Visibility of the main action was helped by a small
raised platform, and the elaborate scenic transformations were managed
without any pauses, save for the generous applause which punctuated
the proceedings throughout. The whole stage came into use for the populous,
Freemason ceremonies, and scenes in which animals were soothed by Tamino's
flute, and Monastosos's thugs of the East by Papageno's bells. Sarastro's
community of devotees and the general population, dressed in a fine
mixture of period and modern styles were taken by the 'choir soloists'
of the company, a nice nomenclature recognising how chorus deployment
has advanced in modern opera production. The main parts were all well
taken (no names known to me) and sung by an accomplished cast; Romelia
Lichtenstein had vocal difficulties in the Queen's taxing arias and
the Three Boys were weak. On our night a computer bug halved the lovers'
trials - the two robotic Armed Men (who had donated their singing parts
to Sarastro and his Speaker!) failed to get the Ordeal by Fire up onto
screen, though suitable computer graphics did appear to represent Water!
The bright lighting was notably effective, often in front of dark backgrounds.
All in all, a thoroughly effective and acceptable version of a perennial
gift to imaginative opera directors which made a happy start to a week
of opera in Berlin.

One of Harry Kupfer's earliest creations was Die
Entführung in 1982, and we saw its performance No. 201.
The production, with revolving sets by Marco Arturo Marelli and costumes
by Reinhard Heinrich, is traditional and feels so right that there really
is no call to change it. This proved to be the most completely satisfying
of our four evenings of Berlin opera. Yakov Kreizberg produced
the most refined orchestral playing, and he achieved perfect unanimity
and flexibility from a well-matched team of principals. Acting and diction
in this 'Deutsches Singspiel' were impeccable and projected without
forcing or overdoing stage business, and it was a pleasure to share
with the German speaking audience most of the jokes and the generous
applause which punctuated the performance. It is an unusual piece, with
a non-singing crucial character, the Pasha who holds everyone's fate
in his hands.

Osmin & Blondchen

Osmin & Pedrillo

The two pairs of lovers are each soprano and tenor,
and the only low voice is the bass Osmin, his sudden changes of mood
well conveyed by Thomas Rühmann, who has the necessary agility
and range.Clemens Bieber and Andreas Conrad were excellent
as master and servant, and Tatjana Korovina bubbled over with
excitement and affection as the bespectacled English girl. Most outstanding
was the Konstanze, Marcela de Loa, a splendid singing-actress,
with a creamy voice, never hard edged under pressure. She remained fully
in character whilst expressing the conflicts of her predicament through
her two demanding arias. A glorious evening, which for me re-established
Die Entführung aus dem Serail in the pantheon of Mozartian
masterpieces.